Miscarriage Of Justice (26 page)

Parking on the street, Mariana took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, before going inside. Walking down the marbled halls of the courthouse, she saw a couple of deputies talking outside the Clerk’s Office. Seeing her, they nodded but kept up their conversation. “That’s a good sign,” she said under her breath. “They didn’t arrest me.”

Continuing to her office, as some of the anxiety abated, Mariana hoped to soon find out what was going on. The suspense was too much.

As Miss Gooten had said, the sheriff was waiting in her office. While he appeared slightly agitated, Mariana didn’t think he seemed mad or upset. Inviting him into her private office, she slid behind her desk and braced herself for the worst. Once the sheriff started speaking, she breathed a sigh of relief and finally got some answers.

She learned that Frankie Arimante had been the subject of a Federal warrant and arrested by the FBI. The Lincoln County Sheriff’s Department had assisted in the operation.

Less than half an hour after she talked with him that morning, federal agents had swarmed the restaurant, converging on Arimante’s headquarters. Raiding the “restaurant,” they had arrested Frankie on charges of drug smuggling, racketeering, and numerous other unlawful ventures. The other four men had been arrested for attempting to interfere. As Miss Gooten had said, all five were being held in the county jail awaiting transport to a federal facility.

Mariana listened intently as the sheriff detailed the events. When he was finished, she remained silent for a moment. Then, with a perplexed look, she asked, “So why did you call me back to the office? If this was all done by the FBI on a Federal warrant, it really doesn’t involve the District Attorney.”

The Sheriff reached a hand into his shirt pocket. “We found this in Arimante’s office,” he said, producing a small folded piece of paper. “It has your name and phone number on it.”

Mariana cringed. How was she going to explain this, she wondered.

The Sheriff reused her from her own thoughts. “I know Frankie testified for you a few months ago but we thought it was odd he still had your contact information lying around. We just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Smiling sweetly, Mariana shook her head slowly. “Thanks,” she said.

The Sheriff nodded and without another word walked out the door. Once he was gone and she was alone, Mariana stared thoughtfully out the window, trying to steady her nerves. So far, so good, she thought. The arrest had nothing to do with her!

Yet, she knew this wasn’t over. The man who held her career, her freedom, and maybe her very life in his hands, was in jail. An evil and vile man, a desperate man—a criminal. A guy who would sacrifice his own mother if that meant he could stave off a federal case or have a better chance to save his skin. And unfortunately, he had a doozy of a bargaining chip, thanks to her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ethan was bored. He wanted to do something big. Something memorable. Something catastrophic and calamitous. An act that would instantly grab Mariana’s attention, demand her obeisance, and make her tremble with fear. After dumping the body of the late-night attacker in her shed, the remaining items on his agenda, things he’d come up with while in prison, paled in comparison. Almost not worth his time and effort. Even the more devious pranks he’d envisioned no longer held much appeal. All in all, they seemed rather trite. And that’s why he was bored. He needed something to make a statement. A final statement. Something the lady wouldn’t soon forget. A grand finale, and then he could forget this whole thing. But, he was fresh out of ideas.

What he really wanted he realized, was to hear her admit what she had done. To see her own up to it, face-to-face. An honest and sincere
mea culpa
. And then, to beg his forgiveness. A request, he would of course, staunchly refuse. Then she could plead for mercy as he relentlessly tormented her. That hadn’t been his plan originally, but he realized it had always been his goal and the impetus of his scheming. And the reason he always felt let down after anything he did to the lady.

The happenstance killing of the hit man earlier in the week, and then dumping the body at her house had started Ethan down a whole new road. This was beginning to take on a life of its own, and he was just along for the ride, or so it seemed.

Seeing his phone laying on the counter, he thought about calling Mariana, but then frowned and let it go. Even that was getting old. Somehow, what used to be so exhilarating had lost its charm. He sighed wearily, it was all getting old, and he wished it were over.

His mind drifted back again. Back to a peaceful time. A better time. And a better life. A life of happiness and content. How he longed for that life now. And he wished this whole situation was over. A life with Lacy was sounding more appealing all the time. He sighed knowing it could never be. He’d started down this road of revenge and he felt obligated to see it through. Almost as if he had no choice but was blindly following orders from some unknown force, obediently obeying his master’s command.

Yet, he knew it was all his own doing. Something inside him refused to let it go. It was a matter of principle. The one who had caused all of this had to lose everything—just as he had. No one else would hold her accountable for her misdeeds, of that he was certain. Because, no one cared, not the police, not the court, not even the judge; no one.

Determined to not let Mariana get away without some sort of punishment, Ethan turned his attention back to finding a way to force a confession out of Mariana.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his mind’s wandering and instantly he was at full alert. Was this another minion sent to finish what the last guy had failed to accomplish? Snatching up the heavy handgun from inside the cabinet, Ethan shoved the pistol into the back of his belt. Cautiously, he went to answer the door.

At first glance, through the tiny glass window on the door, he thought it was Sandra Lovell, the rich old lady who had served on his jury, but he quickly realized it wasn’t. Smiling, he opened the door.

The visitor was only a neighbor, Mrs. Kershaw, as she introduced herself. A kind old lady who wanted only a bit of friendly conversation with the newest member of the neighborhood. Or, in her words, “to meet the nice looking young man who had moved into the ‘Williams’ house.” Ethan assumed the Williams had been the previous tenants, but he wasn’t sure. As old as the woman looked, she could easily have been referring to the guy who built the house. Granted, the place was old, but not nearly as ancient as she appeared.

In the company of the elderly woman, Ethan made it a point to be polite and courteous, but didn’t invite her inside. They talked at the door, for close to twenty minutes, about the weather, the town and the neighborhood. And much to his dismay, in-between topics, Mrs. Kershaw gave him a detailed history of her life. He learned she’d been born in the house next door and had lived there all of her ninety-five years.

Smiling and nodding, he thought how ironic it was that women never mentioned their age until they were too old for anyone to care. Then for some unknown reason, they felt a burning desire to share it with everyone.

“What was your name again?” the old lady was asking.

“Ethan Rafferty.”

The old woman instantly scowled, squinting at him through her wire-rimmed glasses. “I thought you were in prison,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Ethan didn’t know how to react. “I was,” he said slowly. Then he with a puzzled frown he asked, “Do I know you?”

“No, but I know you,” Mrs. Kershaw snapped. “You murdered that little girl over on Hawthorne Street years ago, and you’re supposed to be in prison.” The elderly woman wasn’t condescending or confrontational and she didn’t seem the least bit afraid. She simply stated the facts, as she believed them.

“I was in prison,” Ethan repeated. “I served my time and they let me out a few months ago.” He wanted desperately to tell her he hadn’t been the one to kill Natasha Wyman, that he wasn’t guilty, but what was the use? If the court hadn’t believed him, why would this scraggly old lady think he was telling the truth? He looked at her inquisitively. “How did you know who I am?”

“I told you, I’ve lived here all my life, and I do read the papers,” she said huffily, as if that explained everything.

“But that was sixteen years ago!”

“Has it been that long?” Mrs. Kershaw asked. “Well yes, I guess it must have been since you’re standing here.” Suddenly, she gave him a suspicious glance. “You didn’t escape did you?”

Ethan laughed and shook his head. “No ma’am, I didn’t escape.” This old lady was sort of funny.

Mrs. Kershaw sized him up for several seconds, as if she couldn’t make up her mind whether to believe him or not. Abruptly then, she shifted gears. “Well, I’m not one to hold a grudge. If you served your time, then you’re okay in my book. But,” she paused and gave him that sideways look again. “I’m warning you, I keep an eye on things around here. Anything going on in this neighborhood, you can bet I know about it. I’ll be watching you.”

Ethan couldn’t help but think that if she were so observant why hadn’t she seen the man who’d tried to kill him a few nights ago? He didn’t linger on the question, as she continued.

“If I see you acting strangely, I’ll telephone the police.”

The way she said it was rather comical, but the fact that she said it in the first place was disturbing. Stinging from her remarks, Ethan could feel the same old anger and resentment coursing through his veins, just like when he’d first arrived at Granite Hills. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he’d been humiliated in his hometown, gone to prison and undeservedly been castigated by society. He still had to endure the stigma of an ex-con and suffer the berating of grandma here; although he was clearheaded enough to realize the old lady standing in his doorway wasn’t at fault. He couldn’t take out his frustration on the feeble woman just because she had an exceptionally good memory.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Mrs. Kershaw,” he assured her realizing how stupid the self-proclamation of valor was. If he really was the murderer she thought him to be, could such a claim be taken seriously? Did a criminal ever insist their potential victim was in actual danger?

A few more minutes of light-hearted conversation, and Mrs. Kershaw told him she really needed to be getting back home. “I’ve got a million things to do, and not one of them is being done while I’m standing here talking with you.”

“Would you like some help back to your place?” Ethan offered trying to be polite. The lady was ninety-five!

Mrs. Kershaw was already walking away, but suddenly she stopped, turning halfway around with an indignant glare. Letting him know she was appalled by the suggestion she snapped, “No, do I look like a helpless cripple to you?”

Ethan meekly shook his head. “No ma’am,” he declared. It was the truth. He had to admit she got around pretty well.

Continuing a few more steps, the aged lady stopped again, looking back once more. This time the scowl was gone, replaced by a kinder expression on her face. In a congenial tone she said, “Thank you for the offer. My mother would say I need to be mindful of my manners.”

“Your mother?” Ethan exclaimed. “She’s still living?”

“Oh heavens no. She’s been dead for years.” Mrs. Kershaw shook her head with a bit of disgust. Then she was gone.

Disappearing back into his house, Ethan closed the door chuckling to himself. She was hilarious. A typical cantankerous and very independent old lady. Then the smile faded. Mrs. Kershaw’s visit had made it plain the need to come up with something extraordinarily devious and spectacularly cruel for Mariana Clark. If his neighbor’s reaction was what he had to look forward to receiving, an indication of what he could expect for the rest of his life, then the conniving little D.A. hadn’t yet begun to pay.

But regrettably, whatever it was he came up with, would have to wait for a while, thanks to his lunacy of sending half the town’s plumbers and electricians to her house. He didn’t want any interruptions—or possible witnesses.

Sorting through the scattered mess of papers on the table, Ethan found the list of appointments he’d made. The last one was scheduled for Saturday, one week away.

The one positive aspect of that was he should be able to come up with some strategy by then. Still, he wished now he hadn’t been quite so enthusiastic in his approach. Of course, he could always call to cancel them, but that would probably take longer than it had to schedule them in the first place, which would serve only to further aggravate him. And knowing the incompetent nature of businesses these days, four or five of them would probably show up anyway and likely at the most inopportune time. No, his time would be better spent designing and preparing a new line of attack while he waited.

Numerous possibilities crossed his mind. Each was summarily dismissed. Nothing he could come up with would have the desired devastating effect on Mariana. He even considered burning her house to the ground, but instantly, he rejected that idea. She probably had millions of dollars worth of insurance, fire, flood, and everything else for which they sold a policy. Destroying her home would only be a temporary inconvenience. In the end, his actions would flood her bank account with more than her fair share of zeroes. He wasn’t about to help her retire early!

Inspiration is sometimes slow in its arrival, but given enough time, if a person is patient, it usually does show up. And when the ideas start to flow, it can be difficult to keep up. As soon as he awoke the next morning, Ethan’s mind was racing, his brain firing rapidly on all synapses, forming a brilliant strategy. Brilliant to him anyway, the actual outcome remained to be seen. The plan wasn’t complicated, but it would take time to think it over and contemplate the details. Time however, wasn’t a problem, he had a whole week!

He was going to need a gun, that was a given, and thanks to his dearly departed recent attacker, he had one. He laughed. Mariana was about to get the scare of her life. Maybe, just maybe, she’d learn a lesson, but he doubted it. Arrogant, self-serving people who’ve managed to get their hands on a little power never seem to learn anything. But, with any luck, she could have a heart attack! That would work! The only major problem he faced was how to keep her from phoning the police while he executed his new scheme. And there was still nearly a week to wait until the last of the appointments he’d made were out of the way. Now that he had a plan, the wait would be doubly annoying.